


너라면 한 몸 아깝지 않은 나

by taetaetiger (sexyvanillatiger)



Category: EXO (Band), VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Blood and Gore, Bonding, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Magic-Users, Minor Character Death, Past Abuse, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:32:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6004357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyvanillatiger/pseuds/taetaetiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If it’s you, my body is not wasted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	너라면 한 몸 아깝지 않은 나

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt from Vixxomoments Fic Fest on livejournal: "Lay has healing powers but can only heal through skinship, (touch kiss or licking etc). One day he discovers Leo getting injuries seemingly out of nowhere, but the cause is dripping in voodoo."
> 
> Warnings in the tags.

For three days, Yixing isn’t quite sure who his neighbor is. He only has one, barring the students that live across the hall, because Yixing’s apartment is the last apartment on his side of the hallway. All he knows is that the young couple who used to live next door to him moved out weeks ago, and the apartment was empty until just earlier this week. Yixing was laying himself down for bed when the shower rang out on the other side of his wall, a sound he hadn’t heard since the couple moved out. He’d let the dull hiss of the water lull him to sleep, only beginning to contemplate about his new neighbor the next morning as he prepares for work.

Yixing’s work is easy. It’s not really easy, because his hospital is large and his unit is small and he often has more patients than he should be able to handle; but it’s easy for Yixing. Most of the time, his patients only require half of the interventions prescribed to them, as compared to the patients of his peers. Yixing assumes that his peers do not have the ability to heal hidden inside of them, like Yixing does. In fact, Yixing doesn’t know anybody who has his power hidden within them except for himself.

It could be a curse, but Yixing treats it as a calling: a bit of intention as he dresses a wound, and the wound is already halfway healed by the next dressing change. A gentle touch as he listens to the lungs of a patient with pneumonia, and before they leave, their crackles are gone. It’s tiresome, for as much as Yixing has practice he has very little control of himself, and most work days, Yixing comes home exhausted, feeling as though he has given away his own liveliness for his patients. He will never regret it, though; by his next shift, he is always recuperated and ready to do it all over again.

It’s a compulsion, to have such a gift inside of him, knowing that he can do good that nobody else he knows can do. For all Yixing is aware, he is the only man in the world who can do what he does. It’s too great of a sign to be complacent. Yixing seeks out those in trouble, always in the hopes that he will be able to change things for the better.

So it might be fate that the first time Yixing meets his new neighbor, it is as the man is struggling to insert his key into his lock as it slides around in his bloody fingers. Yixing almost drops the bags of groceries he’s carrying in his concern, rushing over to the man to help without thinking twice. The man flinches away from him, his somber face narrowing in suspicion. Yixing bows and apologizes.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he’s coming up, indicating boldly to the man’s hand. From what Yixing can see, there are no wounds there; it must be a wound beneath his long sleeve, draining down. He reaches forward to touch, just in the hopes of relieving whatever pain the man may be feeling, but Yixing’s neighbor retracts it before he can reach. His fingers swipe through air, his energy not connecting.

“I’m fine. Thank you,” the man says politely, though his expression remains guarded. Yixing blinks up at him, frowning. He has known patients who concealed their injuries; many times, it was a matter of trust. Yixing places his bag of groceries on the ground and presents his hands in a conceding gesture.

“It’s okay, I’m a nurse. I just want to help,” he says, but the man doesn’t relax. Rather, he grows stiffer as Yixing persists. Yixing knows that he should let the man be, but the amount of blood on the man’s hand, having soaked all the way through his shirt and down to his skin—Yixing is worried that perhaps the man’s wound has crossed an artery, and he may not understand the extent of the damage that has been done. “I have supplies in my apartment, I live right next door. Please, I would feel better if I could just bandage it to stop the bleeding.”

“It’s not bleeding anymore,” the man says. Yixing opens his mouth, but he isn’t sure what to say. Never has he felt so determined to help someone before. He is compelled to heal this man who refuses to even let Yixing near him.

“May I at least see it?” he asks obsequiously. If he can’t touch, then getting a good look might assure him that the man is as fine as he says he is.

The man hesitates, but Yixing flashes him a small smile and a _please_ , and he hesitantly begins to roll up his soaked sleeve. Indeed, the wound has begun to clot some, but Yixing can see that it is fresh. “Has it been cleaned?” he asks.

The man stands silently for a moment, pulling his arm back into himself where Yixing can no longer see it. Guarding, perhaps. Yixing looks away from the arm and back up into the man’s eyes. “No,” he finally says, breaking eye contact with Yixing for the first time in their encounter. He stares at the floor now. Yixing takes a step forward, and the man doesn’t pull away from him.

“I can clean it. It won’t hurt, I promise,” Yixing swears, picking up his groceries and indicating towards his apartment. The man’s face twists uncomfortably, but Yixing knows that sepsis is far more uncomfortable than a stranger, so he persists. “I can even bring my things out here, if that would be more comfortable for you.”

For a long while, Yixing thinks that the man might not respond to him at all. He bides his breaths, trying not to seem too presumptuous, until finally the man says, “No. That won’t be necessary.” He steps out of the way, allowing Yixing to access his door, and when Yixing unlocks it and holds it open behind him for the man, he only hesitates for a moment before following Yixing in.

“My name is Yixing,” Yixing says as he sets his groceries on the kitchen counter and leads the way back to his bathroom. He keeps his first aid kit in his full bath, tucked in the depths of his bedroom. It’s a cramped bathroom, with barely enough space for the man to sprawl his long legs as he takes a seat at the edge of the bathtub.

“Taekwoon,” the man replies, offering his arm when Yixing sets his kit down on the toilet lid. Yixing kneels down before Taekwoon, turning his arm this way and that to inspect the cut. It’s deep—definitely a bleeding risk, but not as much as Yixing initially thought. He breathes easier after that, preparing a clean rag with sterile saline to dab at the crusted edges of the cut.

“Can you tell me how you got this?” Yixing asks into the silence, glancing up from his work to look into Taekwoon’s face. His expression is pinched, and Yixing lightens his touch, almost pulling away. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” Taekwoon tells him. “You’re doing fine.”

Yixing smiles and continues to clean the cut. “You should see a doctor to make sure that this isn’t infected. For instance, if you got this from any sort of rusty metal—“

“Tetanus,” Taekwoon interjects.

Yixing smiles up at him and nods, discarding his dirtied wash cloth. He prepares another and continues to clean until the white rag comes up clean. “Yes, tetanus. Just because I’m cleaning this, that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t need medical attention.” He pats the cut dry with a fresh towel before pulling out a large adhesive pad, one that will sufficiently cover the impressive extent of the wound. He peels off the protective backing to expose the sticky side. Taekwoon offers his arm, and Yixing places the bandage, careful to keep it from creasing or bending.

Though the compulsion to heal Taekwoon is strong, Yixing almost doesn’t do it. The cut is clean, the wound edges are smooth, and surely Taekwoon will see a doctor to make sure the cut heals properly, with no complications. Yixing doesn’t need to do it, he should save his energy for his very sick patients who will be under his care during his shift tomorrow. Yixing hesitates, pressing down the edges of the bandage, warming the adhesive so that it will stick better.

On an impulse, Yixing does it. He does what he can, the energy feeling physical in his fingers, like water or heat or a hum of static running through him, or all of it at once. It is light, in color and size and texture and sound, engaging all of him as he decides that he wants to heal Taekwoon, just enough to keep bacteria from infecting the cut, but his control is imprecise so he knows that the cut will heal much more than he means for it to. He smooths down the perfectly smooth bandage with his thumbs, letting the energy work through him and into Taekwoon’s skin through the flexible fabric barrier.

Taekwoon tears away from him so fast that he almost tumbles back into the tub. Yixing flinches and falls back onto his bottom, his knees smarting as his weight is lifted off of them. Taekwoon clutches his arm close to him, his eyes wider than Yixing knew they could get. He balks up at Taekwoon, knowing that something must have happened, but he doesn’t know _what_. What could have _possibly_ happened that would scare Taekwoon so badly? Perhaps he knows. Perhaps he felt it, even though nobody has ever felt the healing before. Not in a way that alerted them to the strangeness, the inhumanness of Yixing’s abilities.

But Taekwoon accuses him, his tentative words coming out quiet, as though he is not certain he is even speaking the truth, “You healed me.”

Yixing flounders. He begins to sit up, waving his hands defensively. “No, no, I didn’t—”

“You did,” Taekwoon cuts in, bolder now. Yixing should act like he doesn’t know what Taekwoon is talking about. He should deflect, he should question _how_ Taekwoon even knows, but he can’t. He’s never been caught before. He can’t string together a coherent sentence, let alone a competent argument.

Taekwoon stands abruptly, towering above Yixing, who remains seated on the floor. He shakes where he sits, panic stunning him, leaving him silent and stupid. Taekwoon glares down at him; Yixing wonders if he is about to breathe his last. He’s not a devil worshipper, nor a demon, nor a witch, but if Taekwoon were to accuse him of any of those things, he would have no defense for himself. He closes his eyes and braces himself for the worst. 

Instead, Taekwoon brushes past him on his way out of the bathroom, and Yixing has to stumble to his feet just to watch him escape Yixing’s apartment. Yixing’s legs are tired and numb, and he can’t keep up. The door slams shut, ringing throughout his rooms resolutely. Yixing stares after the empty hallway where Taekwoon was only moments ago, and he catches his breath.

Did Taekwoon really know? He didn’t even look under the bandage to see if the cut had shrunk. He didn’t do anything; he just looked up and delivered his accusation. Yixing scratches his head. Perhaps Taekwoon is mad, he thinks. Nobody can feel the healing. Not once in Yixing’s twenty-four years of life has anybody been able to feel his work. He considers following Taekwoon, just to make sure that he’s okay and not putting himself in danger somehow. A man that unstable should do better than to be alone in such a vulnerable moment.

But Yixing does not follow this particular compulsion. He forces himself to leave it. He ducks out of his hallway and into the kitchen, choosing instead to unload his groceries. Perhaps he has seen the last of his strange neighbor. The knot in Yixing’s stomach leaves him wondering as to whether or not he’s upset about that.

 

Taekwoon shed his blood in a hotel room outside of the city before burning it, leaving a bit of himself behind to roast in that fire. Hae Na will find him there amongst the ashes. It will give him a few days, at the very least. If he’s lucky, he might have a few weeks before he needs to move again. He takes a train into town, hiding his messy arm away from prying eyes tucked deep into his stomach. He finds his new apartment, only realizing that his fingers are numb when he struggles with the key. He tries to work quicker; this apartment is the safest sanctuary Taekwoon will get.

Sanghyuk is safe. Sanghyuk found a plane that would take him far away from here. Hae Na can only feel them through the ground—she won’t be able to figure out where he’s gone. Not for a very long time, at least. Wonshik is in the mountains, where energy does not run steady or polite; he’ll be disguised there. Jaehwan is with his brothers; Taekwoon only knows because Hakyeon told him. Jaehwan’s wards have kept Taekwoon from being able to fully ascertain _where_ exactly Jaehwan is; his wards have always been the strongest of them all. Hakyeon—Hakyeon is not safe. Hakyeon is living like Taekwoon, on the run. Playing target so that the others may escape. Taekwoon understands the guilt, the feeling of responsibility after Hongbin—

Taekwoon can’t think about Hongbin too much these days. It makes him useless, frozen and helpless, wondering if he doesn’t deserve what Hae Na has designed for him. He can’t escape when he’s thinking about Hongbin, and what’s worse, he’s begun to suspect that Hae Na can sense his grief, his distress. She always finds him faster when he’s been ruminating on the past.

Perhaps it’s why Hakyeon has to move so often. Taekwoon wonders if he ever finds sleep, between his travels and his torment. Taekwoon quiets his mind and his fears and his scorching self-hatred in the hopes that he might salvage this apartment to the end of the week. He should try to unlock with his uninjured arm, but it’s his non-dominant hand, and he would struggle just as heartily. The cut is messy, soaking through his shirt and smearing over his hand. He needs to get inside to rinse it off, before Hae Na smells the blood—

Before somebody else notices. “Are you okay?” the man asks him after Taekwoon pulls away, curling himself in from his standing height so that he is smaller than he normally is. The man is beautiful, more than his face or his smile or his small, smooth hands, there is a magnetism to him that makes Taekwoon uncomfortable. It’s a materialistic want, unconducive to his current situation. Taekwoon knows he needs to steel himself against this man, what would Hae Na do if she felt his want, what would she do to him or this man?

But Yixing’s persistence is powerful, and it’s only when he reveals his power that Taekwoon considers the depth of how terrible a decision Yixing is. The magnetism—it’s an electricity. A current, a magic, a devilry that has only damned Taekwoon in the past. Why should he expect anything different in his future? He pulls away from the burn of magic and retreats to his apartment. He has wards up—Yixing will not be able to enter unless Taekwoon allows it. Hae Na should not be able to feel him, his thundering heart, his racing mind. He cannot feel her here, but that has never reliably indicated her awareness of him in the past. With a heavy heart, Taekwoon realizes that he will have to find a new hiding place soon, one far away from the magic user he’s found living next door.

 

Yixing thinks about Taekwoon throughout his entire day. Every time he touches someone, intending to heal them, his eyes flick up, fear curling in his gut that he will see revelation and hatred in their eyes. But nobody recognizes him. An elderly woman with a cannula and an IV pats his hand and tells him that his touch is so gentle, it almost seems to take her pain away. Yixing finds himself disbelieving that Taekwoon could have known. And yet, hadn’t he accused Yixing so vehemently?

It’s with a furious eagerness that he thinks he could get a hold of Taekwoon, ask him what happened, how he knew. It drives Yixing all the way to his apartment complex, walking with a spring in his step that hadn’t been there before. He takes the stairs voraciously, long strides carrying him down the hall until he’s come to the second to last door on the right. He knocks, and nobody answers.

Yixing gives it time before knocking again, and he is still met with nothing. Whether Taekwoon is not home, or whether Yixing is merely being ignored, he is uncertain. He only knows that after four bouts of knocking with no answer, he is most definitely wasting his night. With a weary sigh, Yixing drags himself the last few steps towards his own door, his exhaustion settling heavily upon him with the added weight of disappointment.

There’s no reason for Yixing to be so worried, he thinks to himself as he showers, the steam and hot water clearing his mind to make room for wandering thoughts. Taekwoon is a grown man who understands his situation much better than Yixing does. Yixing has no reason to doubt Taekwoon’s ability to take care of himself. And yet…

And yet Yixing longs to slip into the hallway and knock one more time, just in case Taekwoon was out earlier. He brushes his teeth, wondering if he ever went to the doctor. Something about Taekwoon’s skittishness makes Yixing think that there’s something unsafe about the way he got the injury. Perhaps the cut came from a fight. Perhaps it was self-inflicted. It’s beyond Yixing to assume why Taekwoon wanted so little to do with Yixing, but whatever his reason is, Yixing worries for him. He flosses, his eyes unfocused as he drifts closer and closer to the mirror. His mind is occupied solely with his new neighbor.

But that evening yields no results. Yixing does step out to knock again, and he still gets no answer. Even though he has difficulty sleeping and is awake late into the night, he hears nothing through their walls. Perhaps Taekwoon truly is gone. Yixing finds that he is not comforted by this; in fact, he feels Taekwoon’s absence as an acute loss. Wherever Taekwoon is could be much worse than a small, below-average apartment in a somewhat downtrodden part of the city, if he’s coming home with cuts that deep. His thoughts torment him, disrupting his sleep, which usually comes so easily.

Yixing has known Baekhyun for as long as he’s lived in the city, from the very first day when they sat next to each other on the train and Baekhyun had single-handedly constructed a conversation between himself and a very shy, quiet Yixing. He knows everything about Yixing except for his ability, so when they meet for lunch the following day, Yixing tells Baekhyun as much as he can about his new neighbor with really explaining why their encounter is bothering him.

“Maybe he’s a drug addict,” Baekhyun offers, sipping his water through a straw. Yixing frowns and puts his chopsticks down, leveling Baekhyun with a look.

“That’s not funny.”

Baekhyun, looking affronted, says, “It’s not supposed to be. People like that need serious help. You just need to be patient with him if you really want to make a connection.”

Yixing sighs. He can tell Baekhyun that it could be something much worse than drugs, or it could be something far simpler. There’s never been a person in the world who understands Yixing or his ability; that Taekwoon could not only feel his energy, but could pinpoint what, exactly, he was doing—he’s blown the limit on what’s possible. In Yixing’s eyes he has, at least. But Baekhyun doesn’t even know that he actually broke his ankle two years ago rather than spraining it; Yixing had taken special care of his best friend to make sure that he wouldn’t even need a hospital visit for that one. Just some over the counter anti-inflammatories and some rest. How is Yixing supposed to tell Baekhyun about Taekwoon when Baekhyun doesn’t know about Yixing?

It must be a dilemma he is supposed to shoulder alone. Just like his powers, Taekwoon is something secret, another part of the world that people don’t know about. Yixing supposes that of course he would be drawn by it; it’s the first time he’s ever been acknowledged. It’s the first time anyone has ever suggested that there might be more magic than just Yixing in this world. Doesn’t everybody want to know that they’re normal? That they’re not alone? But that doesn’t explain his worry for Taekwoon, how he wants to be closer to him, to hold him and have him and keep him from harm, unless Yixing thinks deep down that this new world where Taekwoon comes from is a terrible, dangerous place. It could be, for all Yixing is aware.

It is no less confusing that Taekwoon is a very tall, handsome man. Yixing has not felt want like this in a very long time, having abstained from romantic relationships since he first came to the city. His job takes too much from him. But if Taekwoon understands what he is, perhaps he could let himself get lost in another person again, without fear of being discovered…

If only Taekwoon didn’t hate him.

Baekhyun is no help in Yixing’s quest to understand Taekwoon and how he should engage him. When Yixing gets back to his apartment complex after their lunch, he stops at Taekwoon’s door, knocking and waiting several minutes for an answer before feeling assured that he will not get one. That night, as Yixing lies awake in bed, knowing that he should be asleep, he can hear Taekwoon’s shower running through the wall. He wonders how long Taekwoon has been home.

With little agency over the situation, Yixing chooses the most realistic approach and represses his desires to pester Taekwoon until he receives a response. He would be no better than a stalker, since Taekwoon has made it obvious that he has no desire to see or hear from Yixing. Instead, Yixing chooses to be reckless and headstrong in the hospital.

One of his patients suffers a partial evisceration of a surgical wound on their stomach, and Yixing pulls it back together before the doctor can come to assess whether the patient needs more staples. A child whose asthmatic attack is not responding to bronchodilators takes a long, deep breath the moment Yixing touches her throat. An elderly woman’s pressure ulcer, spanning from the anterior iliac spine down to her greater trochanter, is suddenly only four centimeters in diameter. Yixing is brazen that day, almost daring somebody to accuse him, to recognize him, to understand that what he’s doing isn’t possible, that what he’s doing isn’t human.

But nobody does. He looks straight into the eyes of the surgeon who comes to check on the evisceration, begging in his head for the man to ask him what Yixing did. Instead, the doctor asks the patient to describe what happened, and the patient can’t describe it. They’re not quite sure what happened. Both the doctor and Yixing explain and demonstrate splinting for whenever the patient needs to cough or sneeze in the future in order to protect the rest of the staples, and Yixing documents that instead of twenty-eight staples, the patient now has twenty-two. He begs for somebody to catch his documentation, to accuse him of making an error, to force him to provide an explanation for where those six staples went, but nothing happens.

Yixing goes home more tired than ever, his brashness draining more from him than usual. Baekhyun offers to come over and cook for him; he even offers to bring Jongdae, but all Yixing really wants is to see Taekwoon’s arm and make sure his cut is healing well. He doesn’t; he has a tall glass of water in lieu of dinner, showers, and crawls into his covers still wet and naked. He is asleep before his head hits the pillow.

The day after is horrible, worse than the worst hangover Yixing has ever had in his life, and he swears that he will never overuse his powers out of spite ever again. It’s hard, knowing how much good he can do and having to hold himself back from it, but what little he can do for each individual is better than no healing touch at all. The blip of excitement that Taekwoon brought into his life has died; as long as he doesn’t take Yixing’s story to the papers, Yixing thinks that he could settle back into the way things were and almost forget about Taekwoon very easily. It’s easier than pushing for Taekwoon to let him in. It’s probably safer, too.

It must be safer, because when Taekwoon next comes to him, he comes as a mess. Yixing is sleeping fitfully, exhausted from a long shift. His sleep is ravaged by nightmares, formless and dark. All Yixing knows is that something is wrong, something he can’t explain. Something he can’t even understand. He wakes up and knows immediately what woke him. Before Taekwoon can even knock on his door, Yixing is scrambling up out of bed to answer him.

The moment Yixing sees him, he understands why Taekwoon came. It’s not for a simple cut on his arm. Taekwoon’s face is covered in sweat; his hair is matted to his forehead. He looks exhausted. He probably is. Pain is tiresome, as is blood loss. Yixing ushers him in quickly, not even bothering to take Taekwoon back to the bathroom this time. Instead, he pulls Taekwoon into the kitchen, where the floor is tiled and at little risk of being stained, and he reaches for the buttons of Taekwoon’s shirt. Taekwoon lets him, leaning back against a counter for support.

The piercing wounds crossing up and down Taekwoon’s sides and his arms are calculated. Yixing’s stomach heaves, and he has to cover his mouth to make sure that he won’t be sick. It looks like he’s been stuck through repeatedly with wide gauge needles, over and over again. Beyond torture, Yixing can imagine no situation that would lead to wounds like this. Taekwoon’s complexion is pale in the yellow glow of Yixing’s oven light. Yixing looks up into Taekwoon’s eyes, but even if Taekwoon were looking back at him, Yixing would find no answers. His expression is guarded, even under this level of duress. Yixing sighs and sets to work healing him, wasting no time with pretense.

He places his hand firmly over the first hole, high up on Taekwoon’s arm, feeling how it stretches beneath the skin all the way to the other side. Taekwoon’s bicep bunches beneath his touch, and Yixing glances up at him. Taekwoon is glaring down, his lips tight. He’s trembling; Yixing begins to heal him as they watch one another, hoping to at least ease the pain.

“Do you have to touch them?” Taekwoon asks as Yixing moves on to the next one. The first has withered down to a small scab on either side of his arm. It won’t even scar.

“Yes,” Yixing says, lowering his eyes and focusing. “That’s how…” He trails off, putting thought into the next wound to make his point. Taekwoon sighs, or maybe he huffs. Whatever it is, he accepts Yixing’s touch as he moves to the other arm, healing the two piercings there before moving to his waist. “What did this?” Yixing asks, already knowing that he won’t get an answer. Sure enough, Taekwoon tenses, his abdomen contracting away from Yixing’s hands. Yixing sighs and allows the silence to settle. He won’t get any answers tonight.

Yixing is already drained from his workday, but he continues to blatantly heal all of Taekwoon’s wounds. It’s what he came here for. By the time Yixing has finished the last hole, his head is throbbing and his vision is blurring at the edges. He swoons, taking a hold of the counter just to the side of Taekwoon. Taekwoon skirts out from under him, letting Yixing fall forward to catch his balance. “What’s going on?” he asks.

“Just…tired,” Yixing grits out. He settles down to the floor, feeling more stable down there, and when he looks up at Taekwoon, that accusing look is back in his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he says. But he doesn’t say it derisively. It’s just a statement. A fact. Yixing could take affront to it, he’s been doing this for sixteen years, but Taekwoon is right. Ever since his childhood, he’s never been able to control exactly what he’s doing. He only knows that he can do it, and usually that’s enough. He’s learned to not expect certainties; his ability generally does the right thing. He’s never hurt anybody before.

“Who taught you to do this?” Taekwoon asks next.

“Nobody. I don’t know anybody else who can do this. I don’t even know how you know,” Yixing tells him, taking a deep breath and pulling himself back to standing with the edge of the counter. Taekwoon puts his arms up a bit, as though to catch Yixing should he fall, but he puts them back down at his side as soon as he realizes Yixing has seen him doing this.

“Thank you,” Taekwoon says, buttoning up the first few buttons of his shirt as he makes his way out of the kitchen. Without a goodbye, only silence settling in his wake, he leaves. He does not slam the door this time. It closes with a gentle click.

Yixing thinks that he may have misjudged Taekwoon. He might be very level-headed indeed, barring whatever the situation is with his injuries. Yixing stumbles through his apartment back to his bedroom. If he were any less exhausted, he would probably stay up for hours worrying and wondering about his neighbor. Instead, he falls into bed and thanks heaven that he does not have a shift scheduled the next day before crashing into sleep once more.

 

Hae Na uses dolls to focus her powers when she does not have young, impressionable boys with the ability to manipulate others’ magic sitting around. She collects them and grooms them and keeps them. Taekwoon knows this well; he was one of her favorites. With her boys at her side, she can do anything with the power inside of her.

But she doesn’t have her boys with her anymore. She has to rely on her own crude stitchings to connect herself to someone like Taekwoon, somebody who can take her power and refine it, make it do things that she can’t do by herself. It’s how she can find them without knowing exactly where they are, hurt them without even having to touch them.

The dolls, crudely enough, do make useful voodoo dolls.

She’s piercing Taekwoon’s. He hasn’t heard from Hakyeon in a few days, so he doesn’t now if she has one for him. Wonshik and Sanghyuk should be safe from her torment, but Jaehwan may be suffering soon, if he’s not already. Wards will not hold up long against whatever voodoo she’s come up with now.

This is how Taekwoon woke up in the early hours of the morning in a panic, reaching for the skin at his side only to feel it pierced completely through to the other side. Only when he fully woke did he realize that it wasn’t the pain that roused him.

It’s a light—or, not a light. A _feeling_ of light. A warmth without warmth. Whatever it is, it is _safety_ , guiding him to where he will be hidden, sheltered from her. It’s how Taekwoon ends up at Yixing’s door, lifting his hand to knock and Yixing answering before he can. He doesn’t want to be here. His stomach curls with fear at the idea of being in the hands of another magic user, but Yixing ushers him in and Taekwoon is shocked.

Hae Na isn’t here. The piercing—she’s moved on to his arms now—has stopped. Hae Na cannot reach him in here. It’s almost as if she doesn’t exist, if only in this apartment; like Yixing has taken Taekwoon to a separate universe, where his tormenter cannot find him. The light, the warmth, it’s coming from here. This is a safe space.

Yixing leads him into the kitchen. His magic burns, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s hot, sparking, skating along his skin in disjointed currents. Taekwoon can feel it searing into him, ripping in between each layer of tissue as Yixing guides it clumsily to where its work resides. Taekwoon wants to pull away, wants to escape form it, but he can’t. It holds him in place, not like a spell but like a magnet.

“Does it hurt you?” Yixing asks him.

Taekwoon isn’t certain. He knows that he can feel it, the enormity of it, the aggressiveness of it. It’s there, in him, flooding like water from a burst dam. But does it hurt? Taekwoon tries not to think about it too resolutely, for when he does, he finds himself uncertain of whether the spark pains him or pleasures him in the end. Instead, he gives Yixing a blank look and falls back on his best defense, his silence.

No, Taekwoon thinks. It doesn’t hurt. Yixing’s touch eases the pain like warm water over cold hands. Taekwoon hates the way Yixing’s touch is so soft, so gentle, so harmless. Taekwoon knows that hands with power in them are never harmless. But Yixing tells him that he _must_ touch to heal, so Taekwoon lets him. Yixing works in silence, and with no reluctance this time. Taekwoon supposes there’s no use hiding or disguising it now that he knows; this is what he came for, after all.

Taekwoon only realizes how inept Yixing is when he has to rest after such a short period of healing. A magic user who is untrained, isolated, and ignorant. Perhaps he is not as dangerous as Taekwoon assumed. Given that he isn’t lying.

“Thank you,” he tells Yixing before leaving. He closes the door behind him gently; Yixing will need quiet and rest to recover from such strain. If Taekwoon were any younger, any more naive, he would offer to help Yixing. He would teach him, and perhaps use him. It has been a long while since Taekwoon has used magic; Hae Na has shut him out of hers. As he climbs back into bed and stares at the ceiling, he wonders what he would find if he reached into Yixing. A puddle? a river? an ocean?

 

Hae Na has not found him, but her anger has. Taekwoon is as safe as he will ever be in his apartment, with a healer next door. The next time he seeks Yixing’s help, it’s for cuts. Shallow, thin; they could be paper cuts, if he could convince himself it were so. Crisscrossed along the back of his hand, up his wrist, along his forearm. Across his cheeks, around the back of his neck. Whiplike along the skin of his back. Yixing heals him without a word this time, seeming to know better than to ask their origin.

But Yixing worries for him. The more Yixing touches him, the more Taekwoon feels his energy, the more he can read Yixing. He wants to ask. _Why? What does it matter to you?_ But Taekwoon is a smarter man than to tempt fate. Yixing’s rooms are the only haven Taekwoon has found from Hae Na’s wrath. He doesn’t know what price will come with them, what horrors he will have to endure down the line to pay for the protection he’s taking right now, but from such an inexperienced magic user, Taekwoon expects that he will have less trouble than Hae Na gives him. All the power in the world is useless when it’s cooped up, cut off from use. A battery with no port. A body can only run so much energy through it, like blood clogging a catheter—Yixing would kill himself before he could kill Taekwoon.

So Taekwoon comes back. He comes back over and over again. For bruises, for burns, for cuts, for wounds that cut straight into him. Yixing even puts his eye back in one night when Hae Na finds it funny to gouge it out. The horrors of her abuse never stagnate; they are always fresh. Taekwoon’s panic feels new, foreign, every single time it comes to him. He clings to the small reprieve life has given him; Yixing’s power is unbelievable, the things that he can do. But in his ignorance, he always comes away nauseous, always comes away with a headache, always comes away ill for healing someone else’s woes.

It wouldn’t hurt Yixing if Taekwoon were to take a look; it wouldn’t hurt either of them, so he does. It’s not hard. Yixing is already touching him, his power is simmering at the surface, the connection is already there. Taekwoon closes his eyes and reaches back, through Yixing’s clumsy stream of energy, and he peers inside.

What he sees is not a river. It is not a lake, or an ocean, or a planet. What he sees inside Yixing is a galaxy. Star after star burning inside of him, such a wealth of power that Taekwoon loses his breath looking at it. He can’t even see the extent of Yixing’s abilities, so vast inside of him, sprawling astronomically. Taekwoon has only ever known Hae Na’s touch, Hae Na’s power. She is a pond, and Yixing is a galaxy. He comes out, breathing hard, and Yixing watches him strangely.

“Am I hurting you?” Yixing asks for what must be the hundredth time since this arrangement began.

Taekwoon has to take a moment before answering. “No,” Taekwoon tells him, “you’re not.” But he could. If Yixing used everything inside of him, if _anybody_ could use everything that is inside of him, they could make him hurt a lot.

 

Taekwoon doesn’t come back every single day. Sometimes it’s a week between visits, sometimes it’s only a few days, but it never takes longer than that for whatever is ailing him to return. Yixing doesn’t know what to do. He can’t call the police; or, he could, but what would he say? What would Taekwoon say? Yixing doesn’t even worry about how he would explain his own abilities to the police, but he worries a lot about what would happen to Taekwoon. Yixing seriously doubts that whatever put Taekwoon into this situation can be presented in a simple, innocent explanation.

There is darkness and evil in those wounds that he heals. Yixing doesn’t know what to do, so he does what he can do. He puts his hands on Taekwoon’s broken skin, and he thinks of peace. Of everything that can go wrong in the body, and how it might go right. The energy works of its own accord, filling in the spaces where Yixing lacks the knowledge or the precision. By Taekwoon’s third visit, he’s figured out where Yixing keeps his tea and begins to make him a cup after every session.

Yixing sits on the floor as Taekwoon hands him a mug. He pulls his sleeves over his hands before he takes it because it’s still steaming. The porcelain is warm beyond the cotton of his hoodie. Taekwoon fetches a plastic cup for himself, filling it with water and sipping slowly. His face is still beaded with sweat, his skin still pale. Yixing can see the remnants of pain on him, even though he knows that Taekwoon’s pain should have passed.

“Why do you come here?” Yixing asks that night. Taekwoon doesn’t talk much. It seems that beyond accusing Yixing of witchcraft, he never has much to say. Yixing has never been averse to silence before, but he feels very alone when it seems that he’s the only one of the two of them who feels the desire to be closer, to share something as big as this. It’s not that there hasn’t been any progress—Taekwoon _is_ still standing in his kitchen, drinking a cup of water, minutes after Yixing has finished healing him. It’s a far cry from his short thanks and departure immediately after Yixing finished the first night he came. But Taekwoon holds himself away from Yixing; it’s almost a physical barrier between them, something Yixing has to scale. Taekwoon wouldn’t let him.

“What do you mean?” Taekwoon asks, setting his cup aside. He stands upright, arms folded over his chest. His shirt is still bloody; Yixing thinks about buying him a new one as a gift, for all of the shirts he must have had to dispose of by now.

“Why do you come here instead of going to the hospital? Since you don’t like my methods. Why do you keep coming back?”

Taekwoon watches Yixing for a while, frowning down at him. It’s not a look someone would make if they don’t know the answer. Yixing can see that Taekwoon knows exactly why he comes back here, to a place where he’s uncomfortable, into the hands of a man he doesn’t trust. It could be as simple as privacy, Taekwoon not wanting to put himself in the care of someone who might report their findings to the police; but if that were so, why would Taekwoon hide that from him? Yixing only wants to know why Taekwoon comes only to him because Taekwoon is so reluctant to tell him.

“You don’t charge,” he says in the end. Yixing blinks, and then smiles.

“You made a joke,” he says, his voice hopping with laughter.

Taekwoon smiles; or he doesn’t really smile, but his lips twitch in a way that Yixing thinks could be a smile. Yixing smiles wider, reaching up to place his tea on the counter before pulling himself to standing. “I didn’t know you smiled, either.” Taekwoon’s eyes lower and he nods, the mirth falling from his expression. Yixing takes a step forward. Taekwoon tenses, but he relaxes after a beat. Yixing wants to reach out and touch him, but he abstains; he’s already taking too much leniency with Taekwoon’s trust as it is.

“I understand why you wouldn’t want to tell me about whoever is hurting you. But if you ever find that you cannot handle this by yourself—” he gestures towards Taekwoon’s healed body, remembering how battered it’s been, “—I want to help you. I’ll be here.”

Taekwoon continues to stare at the floor, his lips thin and tight, but beyond that, Yixing cannot see his expression enough to read it. Yixing sighs and reaches for his mug, lifting it off of the counter and up to his lips. When he sets it back down and glances over towards Taekwoon, Taekwoon has already straightened and moved away, towards the entrance of the kitchen. “Thank you,” he says before disappearing off into the hall. Escaping back to his own apartment again. Yixing follows behind him to make sure the front door is closed, for he hadn’t heard it click, but it is.

 

Taekwoon already knows that Hakyeon is at his door before he opens it. His bond with Hakyeon goes way back, to the days when they were in school together. Taekwoon will always be able to feel Hakyeon if he is close, so it’s not that Hakyeon is there that surprises Taekwoon. It’s how he looks.

Taekwoon doesn’t even invite him in, he just takes Hakyeon by the arm and leads him through the sparsely furnished apartment to a chair. Hakyeon sits in it heavily, not meeting Taekwoon’s eyes. Taekwoon doesn’t have another chair, so he stands, first crossing his arms over his chest, and then unfolding them and tucking his hands into his pockets. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, each side becoming uncomfortable very quickly and leaving him shifting awkwardly. Still, Hakyeon will not look at him.

“Is this about the dolls?” Taekwoon asks.

Without looking up, Hakyeon nods. He’s wearing long sleeves; Taekwoon’s own flesh prickles from his fresh wounds, but his skin is unmarred: a great victory from the efforts of the healer next door. He realizes with a start how he must look to Hakyeon. As though Hae Na hasn’t gotten around to him yet. Perhaps Hakyeon is worried; he still hasn’t said what he’s come to say. Taekwoon waits patiently.

“ _Jaehwan_ ,” Hakyeon finally chokes out, staring down at the ground. Taekwoon frowns. This isn’t what he expected. Hakyeon is trembling, but he’s silent. The apartment is so quiet that Taekwoon can hear the soft, wet sound of tears dripping onto the linoleum between Hakyeon’s feet. For the longest time, it’s the only sound, until Hakyeon takes a sobbing, shuddering inhale, and Taekwoon’s stomach drops.

Not another one.

Taekwoon slowly lowers himself down to the floor, bracing for a fall. His knees are weak, ankles unsteady, and his head swoons, leaving him feeling as though he is going to fall and fall and fall forever. Taekwoon should have known, he _should have known_ , Jaewhan’s wards wouldn’t keep him hidden, they wouldn’t keep him safe. Taekwoon should have known. Jaewhan wouldn’t have a healer just across the dividing wall like Taekwoon does, of course he was in danger. Taekwoon never even thought to seek him out. He should have known, _he should have known_ —

“Stop,” Hakyeon tells him. Taekwoon breathes in, his first breath in almost a minute. His hands are fisted in his hair, pulling, his body hunched over, making himself small. He doesn’t remember doing this, but it feels fitting. Hakyeon has slid down off of the chair, kneeling before him, and though his eyes are red and swollen and his cheeks are wet, he takes Taekwoon’s hands in his own and pulls them down, rubbing his thumbs in to relax them. “There’s nothing you could have done.”

“I could have warned him, I knew she was doing this, I could have gotten him out—“

“You don’t even know where he was,” Hakyeon reminds him, gently accepting Taekwoon into his arms. Their tears continue to stream, and it’s Hongbin all over again. Taekwoon squeezes his eyes shut until he sees spots and his head hurts. He will not think of Hongbin. Not right now.

“We have to stop,” Taekwoon cuts in abruptly, his voice cracking. “We can’t—we can’t think about him. Hae Na, she’ll—“

“She’s not here,” Hakyeon says. Taekwoon looks up at him, frowning. “Her eyes are everywhere, looking for us, but we’re in the dark here.” He meets Taekwoon’s wary gaze, watching him for a moment before asking, “It isn’t your wards, is it?”

Taekwoon shakes his head. “The healer next door,” he says, but doesn’t finish his thought. Hakyeon’s eyes widen a bit, and he sniffles. His tear-streaked face shines in the scant light of the apartment, but his expression is young and hopeful. Taekwoon bows his head to look away from it.

“That’s—” Hakyeon cuts off, reaching forward to place a hand against Taekwoon’s chest. “That’s who I’m feeling,” he finishes, a weak smile pulling at his lips. He wipes his face dry with his sleeve, even though his eyes continue to well and overflow. “Taekwoon, I can feel him on you. He’s close—you said next door?” Taekwoon continues to stare at the ground in silence. “Taekwoon, I can see your bond. You’ve bound yourself to him.”

Taekwoon flinches, shocked by the idea, but he does not look up. He shakes his head, scowling. “No. I didn’t. I _wouldn’t_. Not after…”

Hakyeon is quiet for a moment, waiting for Taekwoon to finish before deciding that he will not. “Not all magic users are like her,” he says, his voice rough from crying but steady and sage anyways. “And you can pretend that you haven’t, but you _have_ bound yourself to him.”

“I didn’t,” Taekwoon insists. “I didn’t do anything. I only—all he does is heal me. I haven’t taken anything from him, I haven’t let him do anything else.”

Hakyeon sighs, pulling his hand away and drawing his knees up to his chest. “I don’t know what to tell you. I can _see_ it Taekwoon. Maybe you didn’t mean to, but you did.” When Taekwoon remains silent, Hakyeon continues. “It’s not a bad thing. He’s protecting you. Hae Na can’t come in here while he’s with you. She’ll never find you while you stay here.”

Taekwoon looks up at him, frowning. “He couldn’t—” _Oh_ , Taekwoon thinks, _but he could_. The galaxy that is Yixing could certainly hide him, if Yixing cared strongly enough. Taekwoon wonders, if Yixing knew what he was doing with his power, whether or not he could protect Taekwoon from Hae Na’s wrath, the pain that she sends out blindly. He thinks about how the torture always stops when he steps inside Yixing’s apartment. There could be no limits to what Yixing could do, if only he knew what he was doing.

“He is,” Hakyeon says after Taekwoon has been thinking for too long. “You’ve been thinking about him a lot, haven’t you? You can’t not feel it. It’s so bright, Taekwoon.”

“This isn’t what you came here for,” Taekwoon says abruptly, feeling as though he might be sick if Hakyeon says one more word about the healer. It could be anxiety, or it could be anticipation, he isn’t sure. He hasn’t felt either so strongly since Hae Na. When Taekwoon looks up, Hakyeon’s face is creased unhappily, on the verge of tears once more, and Taekwoon ducks his head, mumbling an apology.

“I’m going to stay with Wonshik,” Hakyeon tells him. The moment Hakyeon says it, a world of weight lifts from Taekwoon’s shoulders. Hakyeon is following Wonshik into the mountains, where he’ll be safe, hidden. Her magic might reach him, but not as strong and not as precise. It won’t be anything that could kill him. Hakyeon will be safe. “You could come with me,” Hakyeon says after a moment.

“No. You go. I need to stay in the city, where—”

“Where she can see you?” Hakyeon leans forward, frowning. “It’s over, Taekwoon. We’re getting out. You don’t have to play decoy anymore.”

Taekwoon shrugs, glancing up at Hakyeon but immediately back down. He hates the conviction he can see there. “It’ll take you some time to get to Wonshik. At least if she can see me, she won’t go after you.” He nods towards the dividing wall. “Besides, I’ve got a healer next door. I’ll be fine.”

Hakyeon reaches for Taekwoon’s hand; Taekwoon gives it to him. “Don’t do anything stupid,” Hakyeon says. Taekwoon just smiles for him. “You’ll catch up to us, right? After everybody else is safe?”

“Yes,” Taekwoon lies. It’s what Hakyeon needs to hear right now. He offers Hakyeon his bed, but Hakyeon takes to the night, preferring to move in the humming electricity of darkness. Taekwoon leaves at an hour’s interval from Hakyeon’s departure to take a walk around the city. Hae Na will be searching for him over Hakyeon, anyways.

He tries not to think about Jaehwan, but his heart feels swollen with sadness. Remorse. _Guilt_. If Taekwoon had gotten them out sooner, if Taekwoon had thought to warn them about the dolls, if Taekwoon hadn’t fallen in love with a monster in the first place. He feels the blood of two friends on his hands; he clenches them into fists inside his pockets. When he can no longer feel Hakyeon in the city, Taekwoon begins to amble back to his apartment. Hae Na’s first incisions are parting the flesh of his chest, piercing, phantom pain cutting into him in neat, claw-like patterns.

He hasn’t even come halfway down the hall when Yixing opens his door and steps out to greet him. Something in Taekwoon knew that he would— _the bond_ , he thinks—but Yixing wouldn’t know what called him out. It doesn’t matter. His eyes narrow skeptically, searching over Taekwoon’s body. “Here,” he says, pointing to his chest. Yixing’s lips tighten, his eyes shining sadly. He reaches out, and Taekwoon steps into his embrace, allowing Yixing to lead him into the dining room.

The moment Yixing touches him, Hae Na’s wrath is ripped away from his body. Taekwoon takes a deep breath and squeezes Yixing’s hand. Yixing does not seem to notice. Taekwoon takes a seat at the table, pushing out at an angle so that Yixing can reach him. He pulls off his jacket and then his shirt. Yixing’s eyes flit between the open wounds and his bared flesh.

 

Much like it has been for weeks, Yixing feels that something is wrong before he can see it. Taekwoon is not in his apartment, and neither is the man who came by earlier. Yixing could not feel him the way he does Taekwoon, but he could hear their voices through the wall whenever they spoke loud enough. Yixing will reluctantly admit that he was listening.

He does not know who the man was, only that he left and Taekwoon soon followed after him. Yixing waited for his return, and now he feels it. He steps out into the hallway, hoping that Taekwoon is alone. He is, but his face is pale and pinched, and Yixing knows that he is in pain. He searches for the injuries, but finds nothing. Taekwoon raises his hand, wincing when he does, and points to his chest. “Here,” he says. Yixing reaches for him, and to his surprise, Taekwoon accepts his hold. He tries to maintain a respectful distance when he leads Taekwoon into his kitchen.

Taekwoon strips himself once he’s seated, and Yixing’s stomach revolts at the half-finished pattern of cuts across Taekwoon’s pectorals. As though whoever was doing this stopped abruptly. Yixing wonders if Taekwoon overpowered his attacker. But then, the marks would be more jagged, wouldn’t they? Yixing would expect to see defensive wounds. These are precise, neat, clean. Just like all the wounds that have come before them. Yixing presses his hand to one pectoral, the span of his fingers not reaching across the entirety of the muscle. The cut is deep. Yixing has to sink his focus all the way down to begin pulling the edges back together.

It’s still tiring. Taekwoon sits calm and patient for him, quiet as he’s ever been, but Yixing’s head hurts before he’s even finished healing half of the cuts. He leaves them behind as scars, not on purpose, but because he cannot work hard enough to smooth the skin back down once he’s finished. His world is swaying from side to side, the corners of his vision darkening. He does not come to until Taekwoon takes him by the wrist and forces him away.

“You’re exhausted,” Taekwoon tells him. Yixing blinks, and then smiles at him.

“I’m just a little hungry. Maybe I can make us something to eat after this.” He tries to reach forward to resume, but Taekwoon holds him still. Yixing looks up at him, surprised, and tries again. Taekwoon holds him back. Yixing frowns. “Taekwoon, you are bleeding too much. I have to at least close them up.” Taekwoon, in his silent way, doesn’t relent. Yixing frowns at him and makes a split-second decision. By and large, split-second decisions don’t do well, especially when there’s magic involved, but this one goes over better than most.

Taekwoon doesn’t shove him, and that’s more than Yixing could expect from anybody.

 

“You’re exhausted.” This magic user is artless, and now he is weak. A weak healer is no healer at all; Taekwoon physically holds him back from using himself up in one night. He’s noticed Yixing working until he can hardly stand, but Yixing isn’t nearly finished and he’s already swaying. Yixing’s smile is dim and slow when he responds.

“I’m just a little hungry. Maybe I can make us something to eat after this.” Taekwoon likes the sound of that; he’s not sure how he feels about how much he likes it. He’d probably like it a lot more if Yixing weren’t pushing weakly against his grip. This weary enchanter knows no limits. “Taekwoon, you are bleeding too much. I have to at least close them up.” Yixing continues to push, but Taekwoon holds him back with ease. He’ll survive until Yixing has had a nap and something to eat.

“If you get hurt, that doesn’t help either of us,” Taekwoon explains to him, pushing Yixing back with the grip on his wrists. “I’ll be fine until you can start healing again—“

Yixing ducks forward, and Taekwoon gasps. He flinches back, but he’s still holding Yixing’s wrists, so he just ends up pulling Yixing with him. Yixing presses his lips to the wide chasm of separated flesh marring Taekwoon’s chest. He opens his mouth, the lesion’s edges coming together as he kisses them closed. Taekwoon’s heart is thudding, he’s barely breathing, and if he just looks down his lips will be in Yixing’s hair, he could kiss Yixing’s head like Yixing is kissing him, tender, attentive—

“Yixing, _stop_ ,” he chokes out. Yixing does pull away, glancing up at him with blood on his lips. His tongue flicks out, but he makes a face when it does, like he didn’t mean to taste Taekwoon’s blood. Taekwoon’s throat swells so that nothing can pass through it, not a protest or a cry of disgust. That same blood that ran through Taekwoon’s veins, that carried Hae Na’s evil for so long, is somehow pure on Yixing’s lips. When Taekwoon says nothing else, Yixing bows his head to continue. He licks up the long lines of the wounds, sealing them shut much easier than when he used his hands.

But he still sways when he comes up. Taekwoon’s chest is bloody but healed, and he holds Yixing against it to keep him from falling over. Yixing slumps into him, breathing shallowly. His chin is smeared red, and it turns Taekwoon’s stomach how much he wants to lick it clean. “Shower,” he says aloud. Yixing nods against him.

Taekwoon stands unsteadily. He isn’t sure if it’s a side effect of this type of healing, or if he’s just worried that Yixing will feel how hard his cock is right now. He does angle himself away, accidentally letting Yixing slide a little bit in his distracted state. Yixing goes with it, even when Taekwoon tries to pull him back up. He takes to the floor, climbing down Taekwoon’s body until he can sit. Taekwoon crouches down before him, holding the side of Yixing’s face to focus him forward.

“Yixing, look at me. Are you okay?” Yixing mumbles, but he doesn’t articulate anything. Taekwoon holds up three fingers: the middle, the ring, and the little finger. “How many fingers am I holding up?” he asks. Yixing heaves a great sigh, like Taekwoon’s questions are boring him. Taekwoon’s gut clenches in fear.

“Three,” Yixing finally breathes out heavily, blinking and reaching forward for Taekwoon’s hand. Taekwoon lets him have it. He pulls Taekwoon closer with his grip on it, and Taekwoon goes. “I can feel you…,” Yixing begins, but he doesn’t expand any further. He leans forward, burying both hands in Taekwoon’s hair to keep him from pulling away, and Yixing kisses him.

It’s metallic, in a sweet, salty way. Taekwoon gags, but Yixing only presses further forward. His tongue flicks out, clearing some of the taste from Taekwoon’s lips. He shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t be letting Yixing do this, but what he _should_ do is such a painful thought that he clings to Yixing to stave it off. Yixing’s grip lowers to his shoulders, clinging to them, and Taekwoon holds Yixing around his waist, supporting his heavy, limp body.

“You wanted that,” Yixing says when his head slumps to the side, lips dragging wet and heavy across his cheek, temple finding Taekwoon’s shoulder and perching there. “I could feel you…you wanted that.” Taekwoon steadies him with an arm around his shoulders, trying to decide whether or not he should even dignify Yixing’s declaration with a response. “Shower,” Yixing says before Taekwoon can come to a conclusion.

Right. The shower. Taekwoon sighs and stands slowly, still holding Yixing so that he won’t fall over, and when he’s got his feet under him, he begins to pull Yixing up. Yixing doesn’t weigh very much, but he also doesn’t weigh nothing. Taekwoon’s erection is more obvious than ever, and overall, the entire maneuvering to the bathroom is as awkward as a newborn foal. They stumble in on four legs, two of them dragging, and Yixing drops unceremoniously onto the toilet seat while Taekwoon turns the water on and begins to pull Yixing’s clothes off.

“I can hear your shower from my room,” Yixing tells him as Taekwoon pulls his pants down past his ankles. He specifically keeps his eyes low, his gaze modest and appropriate. When he reaches up for Yixing’s shirt, he finds that Yixing is already in the process of removing it. Most of the blood on his chin is too gummy to stain anymore, dried until it's sticky, but Yixing’s shirt does not come out unharmed. Taekwoon takes it with a sigh, reaching up to set it on the sink. 

Yixing takes this moment to reach down, fingers extending towards Taekwoon’s belt. Taekwoon recoils, losing his balance as he goes. Yixing stares at him curiously, and Taekwoon stares back. There is the heavy sense of miscommunication between them, Taekwoon realizing that he and Yixing did not have aligning expectations for this shower. Yixing’s brow creases pitifully, the downturn of his lips shaded a brownish red. “Aren't you going to shower with me?”

“Why?” Taekwoon asks, because _Why would I do that?_ is too many words, too many opportunities for Yixing to answer him. 

“I want you to. I thought...you want to, too. I mean, we already…” Yixing trails off, his frown less pitiful and more introspective. He's been in their heads too long, where nothing makes as much sense and conclusions come more easily and less logically. 

“It was just a kiss,” Taekwoon reminds him. But he knows what Yixing is feeling: how badly Taekwoon had wanted to strip him on the kitchen floor, lick him clean and make him writhe. It's more of a feeling than a concrete desire, an all-consuming want made of flash images and vague hunger. 

“Your chest,” Yixing says, the tangible excuse coming out a bit desperate. Taekwoon looks down, the crusty remnants of Hae Na’s rage dark against his pale skin. It’s smooth beneath, Yixing’s healing kisses effective in their purpose, but the blood already shed is beginning to itch. “Please,” Yixing says next, because Taekwoon could just as easily wait until Yixing is finished to shower off. He could probably clean himself in the sink if he chose to. But they both want more than that; they both want to be closer.

Taekwoon sighs and helps Yixing out of his briefs before leading him over the edge of the tub and into the warm spray. Yixing looks back nervously, dejection swimming in his eyes until he sees Taekwoon fumbling with his pants. He climbs in awkwardly behind Yixing, trying to keep his eyes up but away from Yixing’s gaze. Yixing cups his face and pulls him closer. His gaze flits across Taekwoon’s face, inquiring. It's more than reading him; Taekwoon can feel the question on Yixing’s tongue, the one that’s as worth asking as it is just diving in and doing. 

So Taekwoon does. He answers Yixing with the embrace he seeks, letting Yixing lead him down with the hand on his face until their lips are touching. The bloody taste is gone, and Taekwoon can taste Yixing now. It's a powerful thing, sparking down his spine and curling in his gut. Yixing rocks against him, half hard and grasping at his shoulders. Taekwoon holds him around the waist, slowly tugging him closer. When they part, Yixing rests his forehead up against Taekwoon’s. His eyes are closed and he's shifting his weight from one foot to the other, rocking side to side.

“Do you want to actually shower now?” Taekwoon asks when Yixing makes no move to kiss him again. 

“I want you to take me to bed,” Yixing says. The words are foggy, swollen in the steamy shower. Taekwoon considers them. Yixing opens his eyes and looks up at Taekwoon, smiling softly. His hands are on Taekwoon’s chest, either holding him or feeling out his handiwork. Either way, Yixing is close to him and happy and resting in his arms like a lover, the sort of which Taekwoon has never had. Hae Na never let him have this. 

But Yixing is nothing like Hae Na. Taekwoon could love him for that alone; still, Yixing gives him so much more to love. 

“I want that, too,” Taekwoon finally admits. Yixing looks less aroused when Taekwoon says it, and more relieved. “But maybe you should brush your teeth first.”

“I don't have my toothbrush,” Yixing hums, turning his face into Taekwoon’s neck. 

“Use mine,” Taekwoon says without thinking. Only when Yixing looks up at him, surprise mingling with curiosity in his eyes, does Taekwoon realize what an intimate suggestion he's made. “I mean, I don't have an extra,” he tries to amend. It's not that he's never shared a toothbrush before. It's that he's only ever shared a toothbrush with those closest to him, those he would live and die with. Those he would live and die _for_. 

Hongbin. Jaehwan. Taekwoon closes his eyes for a beat before he feels Yixing swirling in his head like a cloud, casting shade and bringing the soft scent of rain on the wind upon which it rides in. Next is Yixing’s hand on his cheek. “Don't,” he says. Taekwoon opens his eyes. Yixing watches him in distress. “Don’t blame yourself. For any of it.”

“You don't understand anything about it,” Taekwoon tells him tonelessly, putting up walls whose strength has been tested by magic users far more skilled than Yixing. Yixing doesn't pull away from him. 

“I don't,” he admits. “But whatever happened to those men, you are not the one who killed them. I understand the loss you feel, but you cannot let yourself feel guilt for a crime you did not commit.”

Yixing’s healing presence swells at the foot of his barrier. He means no harm. Taekwoon releases a sigh and lets him in. Yixing’s presence is a calm one, both inside and against him. He cards his fingers through Taekwoon’s wet hair. Taekwoon leads them out of the shower, handing over his toothbrush and toothpaste and giving Yixing the space he needs to use them. He takes instead to the bedroom, sitting at the edge of his bed and waiting there. It’s difficult, keeping his head silent until Yixing can come and quiet it for him.

Yixing finds him sitting in the dark. He does not turn the lights on. Instead, he crawls over the opposite side of the bed, sitting behind Taekwoon. Taekwoon glances back at him listlessly, but Yixing turns his head back forward. He places his hands on Taekwoon’s shoulders, not rubbing or squeezing, just resting there. The gentleness of the grip makes Taekwoon realize how tense he is. He relaxes beneath Yixing’s palms. Yixing runs his hands down Taekwoon’s back in parallel paths, warming him in long vertical strokes. Taekwoon leans back into him, indulging for just a moment before turning to capture Yixing’s lips. Yixing gasps, flinching away. Taekwoon stills.

“Sorry,” Yixing whispers in the darkness. “I didn’t think you’d still want…”

Taekwoon bows his head. “I do,” he says. It’s difficult to see Yixing’s expression in the darkness. For a moment, Taekwoon worries that maybe Yixing is the one who doesn’t want this. But after only a moment’s hesitation, Yixing is laying himself flat, spreading himself out and shimmying up towards the head of the bed. Taekwoon can see the long, pale lines of his open thighs in the darkness. He follows Yixing to settle between them.

Yixing accepts him with warm hands traveling up the length of his back. When they kiss, he remembers that these are the lips that closed the bloody gashes on his chest. This is the place where Hae Na could no longer reach him. Yixing’s power is a breathless thing, honest and pure. Taekwoon can feel it now, in Yixing rutting against him. It doesn’t come out, only simmering at the surface. Taekwoon could take it if he wanted to. He could use it to protect himself. Yixing has so much inside of him, he would never know.

Instead, Taekwoon kisses Yixing more deeply and ignores his desires to steal. There are far better men who ask for power when they need it. Yixing deserves someone among their ranks. Taekwoon, who has ever only been taught taking and lying, often comes to Yixing to heal the consequences of the path he’s paved for himself. Hae Na never taught him a thing about love. He had to learn it on his own.

Yixing, with his hands carding through Taekwoon’s hair and his smile lighting up in the darkness, is everything about love. He is selflessness and altruism and desire—the desire to help, the desire to listen, the desire to be present when nothing more can be offered. Taekwoon would give his life to protect him. It’s a realization that hurts, like a blow to the chest. He distracts himself from it by leaning over to fish through his bedside table.

He doesn’t have condoms, but he does have a bottle of lubricant that he’s never used for sex before. He assumes that it’s the same principle for any other use. Squeeze, slick, slide in. Yixing, the nurse, reprimands him for his lack of supply of protection. “You really should keep something around, just in case. You never know when something will happen.”

Taekwoon smiles, a real smile. Yixing beams to see it, perhaps forgetting his lecture. Yixing is right. Taekwoon never bought condoms, or any related paraphernalia. He was a man on the run before he met Yixing. But how could he tell Yixing that? How could he tell Yixing that he couldn’t get hard for a very long time without feeling the shame Hae Na instilled in him? How could he tell Yixing that his last partner is the woman who took him in as little more than a child and used him until he was twisted and broken, like he is now?

How could he tell Yixing that he only feels normal in Yixing’s presence, where he can feel the power Yixing holds within himself, and only that makes him feel safe? Not the mountains with Hakyeon and Wonshik. Not over the waters with Sanghyuk. Here, in a little apartment in a big city only a day’s drive from the little town where Hae Na casts her web.

Taekwoon doesn’t know how to say any of it, even though Yixing deserves to hear it, so he stays silent. Yixing lets him. Taekwoon thinks that maybe he won’t be allowed penetration, as he is not prepared with condoms and roses and scented candles. He’s okay with that. He’s okay as long as Yixing lets Taekwoon hold him. When Taekwoon doesn’t move fast enough, only taking more kisses and rutting shallowly against him, Yixing takes the lubricant and spreads it over his own fingers.

Taekwoon leans back to watch. Yixing’s breath hitches when he slides the first one in. Taekwoon wonders when he last did this, and with whom. “I can hear your thoughts,” Yixing gasps from up above, wiggling a second finger in alongside the first. Taekwoon’s eyes cut up to Yixing’s face, startled. “Some of them,” he amends. “I heard _that_ one.”

Instead of defending himself, or worse yet, _denying_ , Taekwoon bows his head and apologizes. Yixing shifts around, the dip in the mattress tilting with his weight. His clean hand takes Taekwoon by the shoulder and pulls him down until he is splayed across Yixing once more. “You will be the first man I’ve had since…college, maybe.” He holds his hand up, wiggling his fingers, and says, “Relationships are hard when you’ve got really big secrets.”

Taekwoon swallows nervously. Yixing’s words are poignant, hitting him where he’s already tender. Yixing doesn’t give him long to think on it, wrapping his wet fingers around Taekwoon’s cock and pulling him forward. Yixing does the hard work of lining him up; all Taekwoon has to do is sink in. The heat is unbearable when he does. He lowers himself flat against Yixing, burying his face in Yixing’s neck. Yixing writhes and twists away, his chest huffing with laughter.

“I’m—it’s ticklish—“ he says, even though Taekwoon already knew that, in his head, as soon as he did it he could feel what he was doing to Yixing, so when he lays his head down against Yixing’s shoulder, he angles his mouth away, to keep from breathing on him.

Yixing’s body accepts him slowly. At first it’s too tight to do much without hurting him, but when Yixing relaxes a bit, Taekwoon takes the opportunity and rolls his hips more completely, more passionately. The way he was taught to please someone. Yixing rests a hand on the back of Taekwoon’s head, holding him close, and the warmth of his touch lets Taekwoon see this as new. Sex not for someone else’s pleasure, but for his own. Sex to make someone feel good, but not because he’s obligated to.

Because he wants to. Because he wants Yixing to moan into his ear like that not only for tonight, but every night. He wants to feel Yixing tighten around him every time he gets a little bit deeper. He wants Yixing to curl his legs around Taekwoon’s hips and pull him in closer.

This is something Taekwoon fought not to want. He spent so much time trying to not be here, in this apartment, in Yixing’s arms, and he hates himself for that. How he never thought he could trust Yixing. How he never even considered that this could be the only place where he would find the power to overcome Hae Na. Yixing is the opportunity Taekwoon needs to save his life, to save his friends’ lives. He has to talk to Yixing. When this is over, he has to talk to Yixing.

Taekwoon raises up onto his elbows, and then up until he’s kneeling. He pulls Yixing’s hips into his lap, dragging him forward until Yixing is arched to keep Taekwoon as deep inside of him as possible. Yixing whimpers and pulls at the sheets. Taekwoon ruts into him, shallow thrusts that drag against Yixing’s sensitive rim. It twitches when Taekwoon reaches down to stroke it, his thumb moving smoothly to follow its grip on his cock. He pushes forward, shocking a moan out of Yixing. It slips in easier than he expected it to. He’s stilled to let Yixing adjust; in this time, he takes his other thumb and slides it in on the other side. Yixing is trembling and staring up at him with what might be tears in his eyes, but when he speaks, he says,

“Please, don’t stop.”

His voice—it’s broken, hoarse desperation—runs like a spark up Taekwoon’s spine. He flattens the spread of Yixing’s legs at the joint, opening them further, and he hooks his thumbs inside Yixing to keep them in when he begins thrusting again. Yixing takes his own cock in his hand and strokes, head twisted to one side so that the long strip of muscle is pulled taut. It’s blinding white in the darkness; Taekwoon hunches forward, awkward in this position, but he has to get his mouth on it. He run his tongue up its length all the way to Yixing’s jaw. Yixing clenches a hand desperately in his hair and comes when Taekwoon sucks at the pulse point, just beneath the bone.

Taekwoon slows, pulling his thumbs free and sitting back up. He wants to keep going, he’s so close himself, finishing would be easy, but Yixing is shaking and breathing like he’s run a marathon. He deserves more than to be used by someone who doesn’t even mind if he’s recovered or not. He waits. It takes the edge off; Taekwoon thinks he might have to work to find his orgasm again when Yixing finally looks up at him and gestures for Taekwoon to come forward. Yixing wraps his arms around Taekwoon to hold them close, chests pressed together.

Awkwardly, Taekwoon offers, “I can pull out.”

Yixing considers it with the logical part of his head. Taekwoon can feel that he’s trying to think it through. Instead, this bond, or this moment, or the way their energies fight to transcend their skin and mingle, it all clouds Yixing’s thoughts and judgments. He bends forward and nuzzles close into Taekwoon’s chest, shaking his head when he murmurs, “Don’t.”

Taekwoon doesn’t try to make it last. He thrusts efficiently, only slowing down when Yixing makes a noise. Yixing continues to roll his hips up, encouraging Taekwoon to take him more roughly. Taekwoon refuses. He comes quietly, his hands curling around Yixing’s shoulders. His thrusts slow rather than stopping abruptly, settling until finally he merely rests, pelvis to pelvis with Yixing. He lifts his head to look down at Yixing, who looks back up at him with admiration. For what, Taekwoon isn’t certain.

“Wait here,” he says when he pulls out. He doesn’t have much to work with, only the washcloth and towel he uses himself, but he takes them to Yixing to clean him off. Yixing obligingly spreads his legs and lifts his hips for Taekwoon, humming happily at the warmth of the wash cloth as Taekwoon drags it slowly up his crease. He cleans away come and lubricant in several grand swipes before taking care of Yixing’s dirtied stomach. Taekwoon leaves the towel behind for Yixing to use when he goes to clean off the cloth. When he comes back, Yixing is dry and waiting for him.

“There’s something on your mind,” Yixing says. Taekwoon nods and slides into bed beside him. He pushes the towel over the side, onto the floor, and fills the space between them with an embrace.

“I know what you are,” he says, “because I knew someone who was like you before.”

“The woman,” Yixing says, not a question or a guess, but a realization. Taekwoon just nods.

“I met her when I was still in school, about to graduate. She wanted my friends and, and me because we—” He cuts off, glancing up towards Yixing, who nods his encouragement. “We can use magic.”

Yixing frowns. His confusion is palpable. Taekwoon gives him a moment to work it through. “But if you can…you’ve never…then why do you come here, for me to heal you?”

Taekwoon looks away once more. “I don’t have any of my own. But I could use yours.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“You didn’t give me permission—“

“You never _told_ me you could do it—“

“I know.” Taekwoon’s gut is clenched in discomfort. He regrets saying anything at all. Yixing’s face is pinched, something about him looking more hurt than Taekwoon expected him to be. “I just—I don’t _tell_ people, it’s not something—” He cuts himself off, breathing deeply and running a hand through his hair. The words won’t come out right, no matter how he arranges them in his head.

In his silence, Yixing says, “This is how you knew. About me. When I healed you that first time, this is how you knew.” Taekwoon just nods. “You never told me,” Yixing says next. “You never told me it’s because you—because you can—what can you _do_?” Yixing asks, the hurt in his expression looking more and more like confusion and betrayal. Taekwoon wants to reach forward and smooth those lines out, but he can’t.

“Yixing, please,” he mumbles, quieting as Yixing grows louder.

“You know what I am, you—you probably know more about me than _I_ do,” Yixing accuses. Taekwoon nods, silent again. Yixing’s lip trembles, from anger or sadness, it’s difficult to tell. “Don’t you know how long I’ve wanted to know? Couldn’t you feel that?”

Taekwoon closes his eyes. “Yes.” Taekwoon feels the bed move, and he thinks that Yixing has left him. When he opens his eyes, he finds that Yixing has only rolled away from him, onto his back. He’s dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing harshly. Sounding weary and hoarse, Yixing tells him,

“Well you could at least tell me now.”

So Taekwoon does. Not out of selflessness—the desire to connect no longer burns within him—but out of duty. He finishes his story, about Hae Na and her greed, her demand for vessels through which she could refine her power and use it to more accurately achieve her desires. This is what Taekwoon can do. He cannot create power, but he can make it do many things. “You can only heal,” Taekwoon tells Yixing. Yixing, still staring at the ceiling, nods. “I could help you to create.”

He stumbles when Yixing asks about leaving Hae Na, how Taekwoon came to be here, in this bed, in the city. “She wasn’t stable. She wasn’t…right,” he says, pointing vaguely to his head. “We knew we had to get out before she lost it, we just didn’t know when. It was almost a year ago,” he says. “She took Hongbin.” Taekwoon’s eyes are watering. His throat is shaking, and his face is heating up with shame. “When she took him—we left. We, we had to get out. She—” She killed him.

In the darkness between them, Taekwoon can feel Yixing’s desire to reach out and touch him, heal him, embrace him. He can feel it as clearly as if it were his own impulse. He waits to see if Yixing will give in; he doesn’t. Taekwoon doesn’t fault him for it. He wouldn’t embrace a killer in this position, either. He clears his throat.

“She has these—dolls. She uses them to do what we used to do. To make her power more accurate.” Yixing glances over, his eyes working over Taekwoon’s bare chest. “They’re connected to us.”

“It’s how she’s hurting you. Like voodoo dolls,” Yixing says hollowly. Taekwoon nods, glad that Yixing has put it together. He doesn’t know how much more he can say, how much further he can go on. But Yixing is watching him expectantly, like he can’t read everything that’s in Taekwoon’s head anyways, so he continues.

“She won’t be able to hurt Hakyeon or Wonshik, they’re in the mountains. She might reach them, but she won’t be strong enough there to hurt them. Sanghyuk—she won’t even be able to find him. He left over the water. But she—” Taekwoon cuts off, curling into himself uncomfortably. He hasn’t let himself think about it much since it happened. He hasn’t let the wound heal, only letting it fester.

“There was another one,” Yixing mumbles sadly. Taekwoon manages a nod. “She killed him, too.” Taekwoon nods again, a broken sob shattering in his throat.

The mattress shifts, the sheets shuffling softly, and Taekwoon flinches when he feels Yixing’s hand on his head. He glances up, but Yixing’s eyes are lowered, cast away from him. There’s a calm warmth at the base of his skull, a healing presence—oh. Taekwoon stares hard at Yixing, who bites his lip but doesn’t look up. Taekwoon pulls away from his hand, loathe to let him in. It’s Taekwoon’s fault Jaehwan is gone. Why would he let Yixing steal his rightful guilt?

“Don’t,” Yixing snaps. Taekwoon flinches. Yixing scoots closer, placing both of his hands on either side of Taekwoon’s face. “Stop thinking that. It isn’t your fault, _none of this_ is your fault. You don’t have to trust me, but please, let me help you—“

“Yixing,” Taekwoon cuts in, surprise making him stumble a little bit. Yixing’s accusation chips him deeply. “I do trust you.”

Yixing still avoids his eyes. “Not enough,” he says. The _apparently_ is implied. Taekwoon bows his head mournfully, but when Yixing reaches into him to find what hurts, he lets it happen. It’s not like healing a cut or a piercing or a bruise, where Yixing can merely thread his flesh back together. Yixing can’t take this memory from him, he can’t take the guilt away, but he can encase it, wrapping himself around it like a bubble so that Taekwoon is not alone with it. Yixing holds it in his hands as though asking, _This? This is what hurts you?_

 _Yes_ , Taekwoon thinks, _it is_.

 _Then I will not let it_. Yixing twists the memory until it is distorted, rife with lies that—that Taekwoon knows, logically, are not really lies. But they are so fantastical that they must be lies, that they can’t be true. How could it be that Taekwoon had nothing to do with Jaehwan’s death? How could it be that there was nothing in all of his power that he could have done. _How could you have known?_ the memory asks him, Yixing’s bubble singing in sweet lullaby tones. _His wards were so strong, how could you have known she would break through them?_

 _She broke through my wards, she got in so easily, how could she not reach Jaehwan?_ Taekwoon’s eyes water. His mouth twists under the excruciating turmoil of facing this.

 _How could you have found him? If you had even known he was in danger, how could you have told him?_ Taekwoon shakes his head, shying away, but Yixing remains with him, not letting go.

_I could have asked Hakyeon, I could have called out to him, I could have searched myself, I could have—_

_You cannot do those things alone._

Taekwoon blinks, opening his eyes. He looks up at Yixing, who is watching him pitifully. Taekwoon just stares at him, too lost in his head to hate the way Yixing is looking down at him. There’s nothing he could have done. If he’d wanted to call out to Hakyeon, or even Jaehwan himself, he would have needed Hae Na. If he’d wanted to throw his eyes to find Jaehwan, he would have needed Hae Na. He couldn’t do those things by himself. He hadn’t even known Jaehwan was in danger, he’d been certain that Jaehwan’s wards would protect him from danger, Jaehwan was supposed to be as safe as any of them—

“It wasn’t my fault.” The words are barely whispers. The memory still haunts him, the loss of another friend tearing something out of him that will never be replaced, but this is different. This is a sorrow that longs to heal. It is so different from the guilt that ate him like a cancer. Yixing smiles a little bit when Taekwoon looks up at him. He inches forward slowly, wary of Yixing’s receptiveness. Yixing accepts him without condition. Taekwoon clings to him, holding tightly.

“I can’t keep running forever,” he croaks, his voice rough and sore in his throat. Yixing doesn’t say anything. He just wraps his arms around Taekwoon’s back and clings to him, as though Taekwoon might leave in the night. Taekwoon settles in, wishing he knew how to tell Yixing more: about the bond, about his abilities, about how he’s different when Yixing is around. Safer. Happier. Before he can say anything, Yixing tells him,

“You can use me. My—power. You know. Whenever you need to.” _Because I trust you_. Taekwoon sighs and nods, closing his eyes and hoping that sleep takes him before he can say anything that will hurt Yixing more than he already has.

 

Taekwoon is still holding him when Yixing wakes in the morning. He comes to, breathing in Taekwoon’s scent, nose pressed into his chest so hard that it’s sort of smooshed there. He takes a deep breath in, yawning on the exhale, and he stretches his entire body out. His ass aches faintly, but not nearly as much as it could. Taekwoon is a gentle lover before anything else. Or he would be, if he were a lover at all.

Yixing glances up at him, pleased to find that Taekwoon is still asleep. At least, he looks like he is. For all that he’s hidden from Yixing, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Taekwoon is faking right now. But when he reaches up and traces his fingers over Taekwoon’s cheeks, his waking seems real. His eyes clench before fluttering open, finding Yixing sleepily.

“Morning,” he mumbles. Yixing smiles weakly in response. Something in Taekwoon’s eyes closes off, and he sits up, away from Yixing’s arms. “Are you hungry?” he asks as he’s sliding out of bed. Yixing watches him go, wondering if maybe Taekwoon can’t read him the same way he can read Taekwoon. Maybe there is a difference between them. Maybe it’s because Yixing holds power within him. Or perhaps Taekwoon is merely shutting him out again.

“No,” Yixing lies, sitting up and following Taekwoon to the bathroom where his clothes are still scattered over the floor. Taekwoon angles himself away from Yixing while he urinates, as though Yixing hadn’t seen all of him just the night prior. He scoops his clothes up and takes them back to Taekwoon’s bedroom to dress. When he comes out, Taekwoon is in the kitchen, already dressed, himself.

Taekwoon kisses Yixing before he goes, but it’s hesitant. Yixing looks up at him when they part, but Taekwoon’s eyes are secretive, like there’s something left he hasn’t said. Yixing doesn’t understand how anything could be worth hiding at this point, how there’s anything left. Taekwoon kisses him goodbye hesitantly, and Yixing doesn’t push him. He just turns and closes the door silently on his way out. He stops at his apartment to change into fresh clothes. On the other side of the wall, the shower comes on. Yixing needs one, too.

He texts Baekhyun, and he has a reply by the time he’s out. Clean, hair dripping against his shoulders, he agrees to meet Baekhyun at cafe they frequent for lunch in the early afternoon. Until then, Yixing moves aimlessly around his apartment, tidying up wherever he goes but not going anywhere in particular. He has a better feel for Taekwoon after last night. He knows that Taekwoon is no longer in his apartment. He isn’t certain where he is; still in the city somewhere, but Yixing can’t tell exactly where. Just feeling Taekwoon from this far away is strange. It’s as though Taekwoon is right beside him, what should be a heat at his shoulder, but instead is cold the from distance.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. Nothing that Taekwoon told him makes any sense, none of what he did in Taekwoon’s head makes any sense, nothing about them does. Yixing needs somebody to validate him, he’s beginning to believe he dreamt it all, but Baekhyun can’t do that. Instead, Baekhyun tells him,

“Yah, I thought you said he was a druggie?”

Yixing rolls his eyes. “No, _you_ thought he was a drug addict. And he’s not.”

“Are you sure? Because you really shouldn’t go sleeping with drug addicts. You don’t want to get caught up in anything—“

“Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun sighs and stirs his noodles. He stares down into them, and then glances up at Yixing curiously. Yixing hunches his shoulders and looks away. “I’m serious, Yixing, you need to be careful,” Baekhyun says. “Even if he’s not a drug addict, do you know anything about him?”

 _Yes_ , Yixing wants to say, _some things_. Not enough. Not why Taekwoon is leaving the city. He can feel it only when he focuses on it, thinking hard about what road he’s taking and whether northeast feels different from north enough to detect. Yixing only comes to when Baekhyun knocks their feet together under the table. He looks up, startled, and Baekhyun raises his brow at him.

“You okay?” he asks.

Yixing smiles and shrugs. “He’s a good man,” Yixing tells Baekhyun. “I know he is. I just don’t know how to make him trust me.”

Baekhyun reaches across the table only far enough to flick Yixing on the forehead. Yixing recoils, frowning up at him in surprise. Baekhyun just makes a face at him. “Don’t be dumb, hyung. You can’t _make_ somebody trust you.”

“I’d like to,” Yixing sighs, feeling around for Taekwoon and finding him very far away. Like this, it’s difficult to pinpoint where. Like putting his thumb down on a map; the print still covers a hundred miles. _Where is he going?_ Baekhyun asks Yixing if he wants to come over that evening. Yixing knows Baekhyun just wants to keep an eye on him. He thanks him, but declines. “I have a shift in the morning,” he says. He’s not lying, at least.

In the morning, Yixing wakes up feeling an anxiety that’s not his. His stomach is turning so nervously that he can hardly stomach breakfast; instead, he wraps something up to take with him. On his drive to the hospital, his eyes flit around his lane, finding the few drivers that are out as early as he is. Each movement catches his attention. His heart beats a bit faster than normal. Taekwoon, he thinks when he pulls into a parking spot. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the wheel. _Taekwoon, please, be calm_.

His fingers tremble as he inserts intravenous lines. His mouth is as dry as cotton as he measures out injections. He can hardly hold a conversation with his patients. His manager can tell that something is wrong, but there’s nothing she can say to make it better. Yixing takes the breaks that she offers him, trying to find Taekwoon but failing. In fact, it isn’t until after lunch that he feels something. Something simple.

A breath.

Taekwoon takes a breath and relaxes, onto a bed? Onto a couch? Yixing can’t tell. He can feel coarse, embroidered fabric beneath him, designs of flowers digging into his bare back. He takes a breath and closes his eyes, shutting out the muted view of the dated detailing in the ceiling’s plaster. A hotel room, then, built sometime in the eighties, maybe. On a bed with the top covers still spread neatly, exactly as housekeeping left them.

 _Resignation_.

She knows. She knows he’s coming back. There’s nothing he can do to get away now. But Yixing doesn’t feel upset by this any longer. He has a healer behind him, he can feel him pushing at his thoughts every once in awhile, asking him to be still, asking him to be quiet. Yixing smiles when he thinks about him. Probably at work right now. At the hospital. Worrying for his patients, worrying for Taekwoon—

Yixing resurfaces with a gasp, hand covering his mouth as he breaths like he’s been holding his breath. His lungs burn, ribs hinging up and out in great, sweeping gestures to get enough air in. He holds the wall for support, surprising his manager when she finds him like this. He waves off her distress, shaking his head and closing his eyes. After those initial breaths, he calms, breathing deeply through his nose. He was in Taekwoon, he was Taekwoon, lying in a hotel room in god-knows-where, thinking about Yixing.

He swallows the spit that has accumulated in his mouth, his throat feeling thick and clumsy around the gesture. He pushes past his manager, still hovering near him anxiously, and he apologizes to her for his behavior today. When he does his next rounds, his hands are steady. His smile is genuine. He laughs at an old man’s joke and even finds the time to give a woman a walk around the unit while she’s still awake.

Taekwoon is thinking about him, and it’s making him feel better. Yixing wishes he knew what Taekwoon was doing, he wishes he could be there with him, he wishes he knew what Taekwoon is so afraid of, but it placates him just to know that Taekwoon finds comfort in him. This is not the man who ran away from Yixing the first night they met. This is a man who understands that there are good people in the world, people who would help him if they were given the chance.

Yixing thinks to himself, that is more powerful than any cut he will ever heal. Taekwoon’s smile still burns in his head: when he gives his report to the night nurses, on the drive home, as he's pacing around his apartment, too busy thinking to eat. Taekwoon hasn't moved. He's still there, in the hotel room, Yixing can feel the stagnation. The _nothing to do until tomorrow_ apathy, the _I’m tired of these walls_ frustration. Energy turning, turning, like a wheel, Taekwoon burning himself out.

_I could always go to her in the night._

_I could_ never _go to her in the night._

Yixing leaves all of his lights off, even as the darkness outside presses in. He knows his home well enough to draw paths with his memory rather than his eyes. The darkness keeps him calm. This anxiety is not his own, but it still leaves him anxious. What worries Taekwoon rightly worries Yixing as well. His mind races, and his legs grow tired of pacing. Yixing takes to his bedroom and undresses. He sprawls beneath the blankets on his bed. He closes his eyes and sleeps as though for two men. 

It’s early when he wakes. Very early, but it feels earlier. Yixing is accustomed to being awake at this hour, and yet this morning, he come awake slowly, lazily. His stomach is tight, his heart racing, his skin damp with a cold sweat. His bangs cling to his forehead and cheeks. He swallows thickly; his throat is too dry. 

_Taekwoon_ , he thinks, closing his eyes and trying to breathe away the desire to vomit. _Taekwoon, take from me. Take whatever you need_. He's not very awake. As much as his entire body hurts, sleep is still an escape. He takes it. 

The next time he wakes up, it's not much later. The slate blues in the sky have warmed into pinks. His bedroom is streaked gold. He’s coming.

No, wait, he's not. He's not even hard. But he feels—there is _so much_ that he's feeling right now. He groans, pushing his head back into the pillow, body twisting in the sheets. It's overwhelming; he has to take long, deep breathes just to keep from being swept away by it. He knows that if he opened his eyes right now, he would see Taekwoon. He would be touching him, holding him close, if he only opened his eyes. 

He does, and he's not. 

 

Yixing follows him to the hotel room. It startles Taekwoon at first. His strongest bond before Yixing could only estimate locations. Yixing’s presence is like a shadow on his shoulder, an onlooker he didn't realize was standing right behind him. He jumps when he feels it, glancing around and then recognizing that innocent, gentle curiosity. Yixing reaching for Taekwoon’s hand, over and over again, even as he pulls it away. Yixing will always be reaching for him. 

It makes Taekwoon smile. His heart beats in his chest for happiness rather than fear. Yixing will always be there, now. 

The night is harder. Taekwoon keeps the lights off and the shades drawn. He glances out every once in awhile, but the parking lot is empty every time he checks, barring three cars parked on different sides of the lot. Taekwoon took a bus and walked the way from the station to here; he carries nothing but the clothes on his back and a few bills tucked into his pocket. If Hae Na found him now, they wouldn't even be able to identify his body. 

He takes relief in that at least tonight, she displays her patience. She's waiting for him. He could go now, he could find her house in the dark as easily as he could in the day. He could find it with his eyes closed if he wanted to. She'd like for him to. She'll take him however he comes. His stomach turns uneasily at the thought of seeing her. Of course she would want him to come at night. She works beneath the face of the moon; she would love nothing more than having the upper hand on him. 

Taekwoon doesn't sleep at all that night. He lays on top of the bed, the ugly, floral stitching of the covers scratching at his skin. He stares at the swirled plaster on the ceiling, wondering when the building was built. He stands and paces, his toes sinking into the plush carpet, and he stares at the dull, cream-colored walls. The helplessness burns in him, like a wheel turning in the mud, the friction hot from spinning in place. Hae Na is so close, Taekwoon could walk to her house in a matter of a couple of hours.

He won’t. Not while the sun still hides. Hae Na would love that—to see him now, when she has the most power and the least restraint. His restlessness will not breed stupidity. Though he paces like a caged animal, a caged animal he remains. He is safer behind these walls than he is beyond them. At least until the first streaks of sunrise cross the sky.

Taekwoon knows that he should try to get some sleep before then. It’s going to take a lot out of him just to see her again, let alone to figure out how to cut her off, sever her attachment to them. But he doesn’t have a plan, and he isn’t sure what he’ll do when he sees her smile, that sweet, provocative curl at the corner of her lips that made him fall in love in the first place. She had been so kind then. Then he thinks of Hongbin, and of Jaehwan, and his stomach twists painfully to think that he ever trusted her.

He pushes the thoughts down, away. If he feels too deeply or for too long, Yixing will know. Taekwoon keeps him close, the shadow at his back, the calming fog in his head, where it’s so easy to lose himself. He closes his eyes and feels Yixing sleeping, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft puffs of his breath through his lips. His body is warm, though his blankets have been half cast off; he sleeps sprawled. He will probably throw himself in a new position before morning. Taekwoon smiles and wonders if they will be able to share a bed, should he survive to return to Yixing. He’s not fond of being smacked awake in the middle of the night.

Yixing’s rest is cool and fresh. Taekwoon feels it like a spring breeze, eyes opening for the first time, sun already risen and warming the room. It isn’t quite five in the morning when he leaves, the sky still dark above him. There are long trains of clouds sprawled in the distance; their underbellies are stained pink with the impending sunrise. It will take Taekwoon two hours at least to walk the distance from town to Hae Na’s home, where paved roads become dirt roads and driveways might amble for a mile before finding a house.

She’ll know he’s coming, but Taekwoon isn’t sure how. Normally, he would feel her the way she’s felt him; when she hurts him, his bond with her quivers. He hasn’t felt it since the night that he laid with Yixing.

All he can come up with is that Yixing is so bright and calm in Taekwoon’s head and in his heart that he fully eclipses Hae Na. Taekwoon can’t feel her at all. He wonders if, maybe he is just as invisible to her, but it’s not a hope worth holding on to. When he comes to her front door, he tries the knob, expecting it to be unlocked. She’ll be waiting for him in the sitting room just opposite the entrance hall, reclined in a chair, surrounded by her dolls. Taunting him.

The knob doesn’t turn. It stops with a jarring click, the impact feeling much greater than it actually is. It echoes up Taekwoon’s arm, settling in his elbow. He almost walks right into the face of the door, his shoulder stopping him just before his nose can collide. He steps back onto the porch, and hesitantly, he rings the doorbell.

She doesn’t seem inherently surprised to see him; he’s sure that she must not have been so composed when he woke her, as she comes to him in a nightgown, her hair braided behind her back. Her face is bare; she looks older than he remembers. She appraises him through the screen door, head tilted back to stare up at him. She pushes it open for him and turns her back to him, leading the way into the living room.

“You haven’t come back to return to me,” Hae Na says. Quite suddenly, Taekwoon realizes that she didn’t expect him to return at all. She expected him to run, just like the rest of them. She really can’t feel him at all.

It’s Yixing. Yixing is with him; Taekwoon sits in Hae Na’s presence, and he can breathe easily.

“No,” he agrees, taking a spot on a love seat that wasn’t here when he left. She sits opposite him, her body facing him completely, posture aggressive even in the early hour. Taekwoon holds her gaze without hesitance, but his throat is tight. He’s worried he might throw up. Surely if she could hurt him, she would have done it by now. Surely this means that Yixing will protect him.

But Taekwoon doesn’t have time to indulge in his fear. He stares her down and asks her, “Where are they?”

Hae Na doesn’t deny him, she doesn’t ask for clarification. Her mouth tightens angrily; she knows exactly what he came for. Taekwoon waits; he waits far longer than he should. She offers him nothing. Taekwoon sighs and stands. He knows where she’ll be keeping them.

Hae Na doesn’t let him get quite into the hall before she’s thrown herself at him, hands curling around his wrist, pushing hard against the bones there. They don’t creak or budge. Her nails are sharp, she tries to drag them across his back. He shivers, tickled. When he turns back to look at her, his surprise is mirrored in her face. His nose crinkles, lips curling in a snarl, and she spits out a furious, “Who—?” before cutting herself short. Taekwoon easily wrests his arm from her grip and continues through the hall to her bedroom.

She follows him. Grabbing at his clothes, pulling at his hair, digging into his skin. He feels none of it. She leaves no marks. It isn’t until Taekwoon steps through the doorway and into her room that she is able to put her claws into him and drag, the skin beneath his shirt tearing cleanly. The cuts are wide and shallow, reminiscent of the damage she did to him with the doll; the pain is familiar. They are not enough to kill him—he still has Yixing—but they are enough to startle him.

He gasps and stumbles, struck by the suddenness of her ferocity. Hae Na stumbles back as well. Taekwoon glances down at himself, the dark fabric of his shirt just barely noticeably stained. He doesn’t touch; it already hurts. A quick assessment of his surroundings tells him what he already knows. There’s so much of her in here—so much of her work, her anger, her _loneliness_ —even Yixing can’t stop her here.

But this is where she’ll be keeping the dolls. Taekwoon pushes her back and slams the door in her face. He turns the lock before she can reach the doorknob, buying himself at least a moment of peace. Her room is cluttered. She hardly has to hide anything for it to be hidden. Taekwoon glances around madly, between books and papers and half-melted candles and large throws and jars of dried flowers. Pots of chalk dust with no lids are scattered around, leaving fingerprints and footprints and remnants of spells.

Taekwoon finds her sewing materials before he finds the dolls. He has to crawl on his knees to reach them, tucked shallowly beneath her bed. The leg of one sticks out; he grabs it, yanking until it and several more come toppling out from where she’s shoved them in haphazardly. He can vaguely recognize who is who, their stitched faces vague but their feelings familiar in his hands. Like he’s actually holding his friends in his palms. That Hae Na could hold them, could feel the same thing as he is feeling right now, and could desire to hurt them—Taekwoon breathes deep and hard. He has to stay calm. He cannot let her have his anger.

Hae Na is still pulling and banging at the door when Taekwoon returns to it. She’s moments away from kicking it in, the harsh, rattling thuds growing louder and more violent, but he opens it before she can do any damage. She shoves at it, it swinging so hard that it almost clips Taekwoon’s face, but in her surprise and frustration, Taekwoon manages to slip past her and back into the hallway. She grabs onto him, but they’re out of her sanctuary and back into Yixing’s arms. The cuts she’s left aren’t healing, but she hasn’t succeeded in leaving him with any new ones.

In the living room, the sun has risen enough to shine through a window down onto the love seat Taekwoon chose earlier. He takes to it again, kicking Hae Na away with enough force to knock her down when she charges at him. Her shrill, angry cries echo in the house; Taekwoon takes comfort in the acres of property between Hae Na and her nearest neighbors. He stares her down hard, not saying anything, holding six dolls in his lap.

From her spot on the floor, Hae Na watches him. She cradles her hip tenderly, pulling her weight off of it with a muffled hiss. Taekwoon relaxes a bit; he takes pleasure in her injury, comfort in her immobility. He holds the first doll up in his hand, able to do little more than feel and understand and sense it by himself. He can’t do this alone. He needs somebody else. Hae Na smirks at him.

“You’re useless,” she tells him. “Why don’t you try _burning_ them, little lion?”

Taekwoon frowns at her, a slight furrow between his brows. It’s the only reaction she gets out of him. Yixing, still sleeping back in the city, settles onto his shoulder. A hand of comfort, perhaps. Or maybe his chin, propped there so that he can press their cheeks together. It’s a reassuring touch, unconscious and natural. Yixing isn’t doing it on purpose; he merely senses his need and responds to it. It’s something Hae Na never did.

Taekwoon takes Yixing’s hand or his chin or whatever he has rested on Taekwoon’s shoulder, he holds it in his head, he reaches for the bond and through it, like looking through the lens of a telescope, he can see everything that is inside of Yixing. Millions of stars in a galaxy, millions of drops in an ocean, every cell in the body of a man holding more power in itself than Hae Na could ever conjure up with her anger and her hatred and her selfishness. Yixing lets him look, draws him in, holds him close. _Use me. My power. You need it._

Taekwoon does. He takes from it like he’s scooping water in his hands. It pools there, beneath his skin. He holds the doll up, Hakyeon’s doll. There are scars on it that he can feel with his hands but cannot see with his eyes. Scars that Hae Na left before Hakyeon got away. Taekwoon tenses, furious, but he does not squeeze the dolls. Yixing’s power grows in him. Taekwoon focuses on it, calling to it, asking of it what he needs rather than taking from it. His eyes never leave Hae Na, and her faces creases in confusion.

She still can’t feel Yixing’s presence.

And then Yixing’s power works its way into the doll, washing away Hae Na’s coarse construction like water washing away grime. Taekwoon closes his eyes, finally, overwhelmed by what he’s feeling. It’s euphoric, Taekwoon’s fingers trembling and his head bowing. It is truly losing himself in somebody else, losing so much of himself and finding so much of Yixing. Yixing feels wonderful inside of him. Warm, content, persevering. Yixing’s hands are on him, everywhere. His lips find Taekwoon’s face, his hair, his shoulders and chest. Taekwoon opens his eyes, knowing that he will be back in his own spartan bedroom in his small, cheap apartment, with Yixing wrapped around him, holding him close, keeping him safe.

He opens his eyes, and he’s not. Instead, he sees Hae Na’s pretty face twisted in horror, the doll in his hand now useless and inanimate. It’s hold on Hakyeon is gone; Taekwoon holds the empty doll for a moment longer, staring on in wonder at its lifelessness. There is nothing left of Hakyeon in it, nothing Hae Na can revive to use it to hurt him again. Taekwoon could burn this doll to ashes and Hakyeon would be okay.

Taekwoon throws the doll down towards Hae Na, who recoils from it clumsily. He holds up the next doll, Wonshik. It’s easier this time, Yixing’s magic familiar to him. Sanghyuk’s doll is the easiest yet. He lets them drop. His own doll is last. Yixing’s power cleans it out so thoroughly that it sags in his grip once he has broken the spell work within it. Hae Na pulls herself up to her feet, away from him. Taekwoon lets her go, staring at the two dolls left in his lap. He runs his fingers across their coarse faces. They are already lifeless; Taekwoon’s eyes water. His nose runs. He sniffles, tucking the dolls close in one hand. He’s done what he needed to do; he stands to leave.

But when he comes to the distal end of the entrance hall, Hae Na stands opposite from him, a large kitchen knife held in her hand. Taekwoon hesitates. Yixing can protect him from Hae Na’s energy, her manifested wrath, but solid carbon steel. Well. That’s a slightly different game. Taekwoon sighs and sets the dolls on the floor, propped up against the wall. There’s as good a chance that she’ll kill him as there is that she won’t. She would, he knows. But he’s bigger than she is, and more importantly, he has something to live for now. He walks towards her slowly, hands held out in front of him placatingly.

“Hae Na,” he says, his voice low, his eyes trained on her face but all of his focus on the knife. “Put it down.”

Hae Na takes a deep, rattling breath, and she doesn’t put the knife down. She doesn’t move at all. Taekwoon takes another handful of steps, putting him close enough to reach out to her, but too far for her to reach for him. “Don’t leave,” she croaks. Her hair is falling out of her braid, and her eyes are rimmed red. She’s older, but she’s also the girl who swept him away years ago, when he was young and fresh and innocent. His heart hurts in his chest for the days when she used to love him. Or when she acted like she loved him.

Taekwoon doesn’t know whether she really loved him at all. He doesn’t know if a monster like her is capable of feeling love. But he does know that he loved her once. He reaches out gently, fingers wrapping around the hand that holds the knife gently. Her grip is so tense, trembling. “Hae Na,” he whispers, stepping closer. He’s looking down at her now, his face tilted to the side to see her better. He takes her other hand in a gentle grip as well, wrapping his hands completely around hers. The knife clatters to the ground, the sound of it clanging loudly.

Taekwoon squeezes her hands as hard as he can. The bones there creak, and then they begin to buckle. Hae Na cries out, knees going weak from the pain. Taekwoon fights to hold onto her, just long enough to convince Yixing’s energy to help him, to cauterize the outlet for her power until it is scarred shut, to break her until she can no longer practice. It takes coaxing; Taekwoon knew it would. Yixing’s power is so calm, so benign, it has never hurt anyone before. Taekwoon shows Yixing everything he can. He shows Yixing Hae Na, her soft honeymoon face, her cyclic rage, the ways she hurt him before he even left. Yixing’s fury trembles at what he sees, and he gives Taekwoon what he needs.

Hae Na screams, yanking against Taekwoon’s grip but to no avail. She doesn’t get away until he lets go. Her hands are bruised where he gripped her the hardest. He can feel her magic simmering, prowling like a large cat trapped in a crate. He capped it. He capped her abilities. She won’t be able to do anything alone. She'll always need somebody else to handle her power for her. It’s almost a beautiful irony, how she _needs_ him now, how powerless she’ll be without him.

How she is exactly how she left him when he decided that they needed to get out. Yixing recoils from what they’ve done, curled up into his covers probably. Hae Na is crying on the floor; the sound of it is grinding, screeching against his mind. He hates the sound of it; it builds something like guilt in the back of his throat. He turns around, taking several long strides to where the dolls are still rested, spectating. Taekwoon picks them up and makes his way to the front door. He steps over Hae Na’s sobbing form on his way out.

 

Yixing is at work when Taekwoon gets home. He’s taking a temperature when he feels it: the click of the door, the clatter of keys falling onto the counter, the shower spray ringing out as clear as if Yixing were listening to it through his bedroom wall. He jumps when the thermometer beeps, startling him out of his daze. He smiles apologetically at his patient, assuring her that her vitals are perfectly normal and that he will get her a lemon-lime soda as soon as he’s finished updating her chart.

The rest of the day is a blur. Yixing works it because he has to, even though every muscle in him aches for home, aches for Taekwoon’s long arms around him. It’s like a pull, something physical drawing him in. He speeds on the entire drive home, ignoring his door in favor of Taekwoon’s and raising his hand to knock so fast that when Taekwoon opens the door for him, Yixing almost knocks on his chest. He startles, then slumps forward, arms tight around Taekwoon’s neck. Taekwoon accepts him, nosing at the crown of his head.

“Thank you,” Taekwoon whispers, his voice fragile and strained. Yixing just shakes his head and rubs his wet cheeks and his running nose on Taekwoon’s shirt. Taekwoon squeezes him closer, walking him inside just enough to close the door.

Inside, Yixing strips himself of his scrubs. Taekwoon removes his sullied shirt and his jeans. Yixing approaches him slowly, reaching out towards the gouges in Taekwoon’s flesh, Hae Na’s last outburst. Taekwoon shies away; Yixing’s gaze flits up to meet him. The rejection is frightening, like the first night Yixing ever healed him, but Taekwoon shakes his head and takes Yixing’s hands in his own.

“Don’t. This was the last time. I—I want to be the one that heals these. I want them to heal on their own.”

Yixing swallows thickly, then traces his fingers along the smooth wound edges without the intention of fixing them. They’ll need to be dressed daily, he thinks. And cleaned. And watched. “What if they scar?” he asks, eyes flicking back up. Taekwoon’s face is a stormy mix between pleased and embarrassed.

“Then I’ll have something to remember this by.”

They take to the bed, wrapping around each other desperately. “It’s the bond,” Taekwoon tells him. They way they can feel each other, find each other, use each other. The strange feeling that Yixing gets when Taekwoon is close; like his foot has been asleep, but he didn’t know it until now. Like he was sitting crooked and he just straightened his back. Like he had been holding tension and just released it. It’s a rightness, having Taekwoon near him.

Yixing doesn’t talk about Hae Na, or what Taekwoon did to her. What he asked _Yixing_ to do to her. He doesn’t ask about the dolls, which were buried in a long abandoned graveyard in Taekwoon’s small town. One that Yixing can tell holds some significance to Taekwoon, but he doesn’t dare ask. It’s a fragile peace they have right now, one that will come crashing down soon. Taekwoon is not okay. He’s trembling, waiting to break, so hurt by everything he’s done, and everything that has been done to him. This is only the calm before the storm. Clouds roil in Taekwoon’s head.

“I was scared,” Taekwoon says after a moment.

“I know,” Yixing tells him. As soon as he says it, he realizes that Taekwoon was not finished speaking, and he folds his lips apologetically. Taekwoon’s face is stony for a moment, but it breaks into a hesitant grin not a full beat later.

“I was scared…but then you were there.” Taekwoon pulls Yixing close, tucking him under his chin. Yixing gasps, startled by the boldness of the gesture, but he takes it before it can be retracted. He wraps his arms tightly around Taekwoon’s middle, burrowing his face in Taekwoon’s neck. “I knew she couldn’t hurt me when you were there.”

Yixing just smiles. He presses a kiss to Taekwoon’s bare skin. The sunken sun takes its final bow beneath the horizon; the natural light in the bedroom drains, and neither of them have turned on a lamp. It leaves them in complete darkness. This time, Yixing would prefer to turn on a light, but he doesn’t dare pull away from Taekwoon enough to do it.

“My best friend thinks you’re a drug addict,” he says to fill the darkness and silence.

Taekwoon pulls away just enough to look down at Yixing, scant amusement pulling at his lips. Yixing kisses him sweetly on the mouth before tucking himself back in against Taekwoon’s body. “I’m not,” Taekwoon says when Yixing settles back down against him.

“I know,” Yixing tells him. “You’re way more dangerous than a drug addict,” he teases, thinking of Baekhyun’s warnings and how incongruent they are with the man in his arms. Taekwoon huffs a short laugh into his hair, like he can feel the vindication in Yixing’s words.

“Not to you,” he promises, his hands splayed wide across Yixing’s back. They never turn the lamp on. Though it is dark, it is not necessarily late, but still they are both tired, lying together in this bed.

“Not to me,” Yixing agrees as he closes his eyes, knowing that Taekwoon will be there in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the prompter for providing the inspiration for this fic; thank you to R for giving this fic life when it was nothing more than a formless idea; and especially thank you to the mods, who allowed me to not only claim late but to also submit late. The kindness and flexibility I was provided greatly improved the last-minute writing experience. I hope to be able to participate more in any future rounds.


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